The mushroom cloud grew in the distance.
“An entire city,” breathed Noffsinger. “My Lord. My Lord God.”
Anne stood and stared at the black tree of death rising from the City. She fell to her knees and began to cry, as if this final act of cruelty and murder by Transport had broken her spirit. Stug moved forward to comfort her.
“What happened to her?” asked Noffsinger.
“These are her people,” said Trick. “They were massacred by Transport. These are all that’s left of their community.”
Noffsinger’s expression saddened, if that were possible. “I am truly sorry for this young girl,” he said. “But I meant your captain. You said you’re captain now.” He turned to Hatch. “Where is Mary Brenneman?”
Hatch’s eyes spoke for him.
“I am …” Noffsinger faltered. Beneath the sound of his voice, the air around the dying city thrummed like the hoofbeats of a hundred horses. “I am overwhelmed.”
“We won’t stay long,” said Trick reassuringly, mistaking the reason for the elder’s words. There were a hundred people here now. A hundred refugees. A hundred hungry mouths to feed. “We just need to rest, recover. Then we’ll be on our way. Our home was … it was destroyed too. We need to find out what happened to it.”
Noffsinger turned to him. “You may stay as long as you need,” he said, forthright and generous even as tears slipped unchecked down his cheeks. “Anyone who survived that …” His voice trailed off, weighed down by the impact of the horses pounding the air of the distant, dead city.
“Are you okay?” asked Stug, kneeling beside Anne. His hands rested on her shoulders. “Anne, are you—”
She whispered something in response.
“What, sweetie?”
“I want to learn to fight,” she said. Her voice was steel, cooling and fresh from the forge. It cut through the roiling air like a knife.
She stood up and turned to Stug. “I want to learn to fight, Joseph. I want to learn to fight just like her.”
Stug looked up at her, meeting the cold black of her eyes with his own soft resolve. His reply stopped in his throat. He remembered when he’d come to this moment himself. When he’d turned his back on the pacifism of the Amish and taken up the gun on their behalf.
He turned to Hatch, who stared at the two of them, his gaze hard and unblinking. He’d heard Anne’s words too—and in them, her decision to choose her own destiny. Hatch nodded to his friend.
“Then I’ll teach you,” said Stug, tenderly pushing the hair over one ear with his thick warrior’s fingers. “And we’ll kill all those Transport bastards together.”
Anne nodded absently, her gaze looking through the big man, beyond him. Her face became flat, though tears coursed down her cheeks. As if they were supposed to be there. Expected.
Tears for Mary.
For the City.
Then the girl’s eyes reabsorbed the last of their grief, like she’d made the conscious decision to simply stop crying. The corners of her lips swept upward into a feral smile of determination, an expression reflecting her iron desire to direct the course of her fate by strength of will alone.
“Yes. All of them,” Anne said. “Every last one.”
Historical Note: Columbia
So, here we are: the end of the line for the heroes of Bestimmung Company. At least for now.
Columbia completes a story arc that sort of generated itself, actually. Back in the spring of 2014, I approached Michael Bunker about an anthology of short stories set in his world of Pennsylvania. He was enthusiastic, and we recruited some top-flight writers, both established and new, from the independent fiction world. That anthology became Tales from Pennsylvania.
My contribution was a story called “Gelassenheit,” a tale of one Amish family trying to work their land how they see fit, while dealing with the long shadow Transport casts over their lives. One unintended consequence of the story when I wrote it was that it became the origin story for one of our heroes—heroine, actually: Mary Brenneman. “Gelassenheit” was supposed to be a one-off short story for the collection. But Mary’s twelve-year-old character kept demanding more stage time from me. So I decided to write about who she might have become twenty-five years later as a contemporary of Jed, Pook, and the rest of the characters in Pennsylvania: a true believer in TRACE’s cause. That story became Gettysburg, and here we are, three novellas later.
In each of the afterwords to the B-Company tales, I’ve talked a little about the historical inspiration for each story. Although there was no direct antecedent for Columbia—I was working with events established by Michael in Pennsylvania, which culminate in the destruction of the City—I did have history in the back of my mind while writing. The sieges of Petersburg and Vicksburg during the Civil War. The destruction of Nagasaki and Hiroshima in World War II. Present-day roadside bombs, 9/11, and public beheadings by terrorist groups across the globe. In short, the human toll of warfare exacted on civilians (who never signed up for a fight and are just trying to live through it) became a primary theme. In the fictional Columbia, as with its historical precedents, one side grows so desperate to win that it throws out the rules of warfare—if those even truly exist beyond our own need to embrace a somewhat naïve chivalric code—to achieve victory.
In the historical cases, one could argue that the ends justified the means. Take Grant’s siege of Vicksburg, for example. Mississippians in the city were reduced to living in hillside caves and eating pets and draft animals during the constant bombardment of the city proper by federal troops. Many were killed by the forty-eight days of siege guns pounding the city, a strategy—like Sherman’s in Georgia—specifically designed to break the civilian population’s will to resist (and thereby apply pressure to the political arm of the Confederacy to capitulate). From the Union’s perspective, such measures were necessary in the case of Vicksburg—both to make sure the British didn’t intervene on behalf of the Confederacy and prolong the war, and to strangle the Confederacy’s ability to move men and materiel up the Mississippi to prosecute the war.
A similar justification for dropping the A-bomb was apparently in President Truman’s mind when he approved its use against Japan in World War II—not just once, but twice. When the first bomb dropped on Hiroshima didn’t convince Emperor Hirohito of the hopelessness of Japan’s position, a second was dropped three days later on Nagasaki. Within a week, the Japanese surrendered.
Is Transport’s use of the O-bomb in Columbia and Pennsylvania any less justified? Most would answer yes, I think. Hatch and Stug would say that for sure, especially given their characterization of Transport as a “petulant child with massive weaponry at his disposal.” But is it nothing more than our perception of “who’s the good guy” and “who’s the bad guy” that makes that rationalization hold water? It’s perhaps easier to accept that Truman acted without malice when he made the decision to drop two A-bombs because, many believe, he was trying to avoid an even costlier means of ending the war; means that would’ve required invading Japan itself. The United States’ experience with fighting Japanese forces entrenched in island strongholds in the Pacific certainly provided evidence that Truman’s fears were well-founded. From his perspective, dropping the A-bombs really was the lesser of two evils. On the other hand, ask a Georgian or Mississippian today about the necessity of Union scorched-earth tactics during the Civil War and—even now, 150 years after that bitter conflict’s end—you’re likely to get a less than sympathetic response.
Since Transport is cast in the role of villain in the Pennsylvania universe, the wanton—and unnecessary, from our perspective—destruction of the City and its inhabitants is hard to see as anything short of evil. But I wonder how a historian writing Transport’s side of the Second War for Pennsylvanian Independence might characterize the destruction of the City. Or, even, if that scribe would call it “the Second War for Pennsylvanian Independence”; perhaps their name for the war might reflect more sympathy for the Authori
ty’s cause such as “the War to Unify New Pennsylvania” or some such noble sentiment. While we don’t have that moral quandary—Transport, as we know, is a totalitarian state, the epitome of evil in Michael Bunker’s New Pennsylvania—it’s interesting to ponder the perspective of the other side, isn’t it?
Speaking in 1862 to his “Old War Horse,” James Longstreet, Robert E. Lee is famously quoted as having said, “It is well that war is so terrible, or we should grow too fond of it.” After the Battle of Waterloo, Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington—who managed to defeat Napoleon by the skin of his teeth—surveyed the blood-soaked cornfields of Belgium and wrote in a letter, “Nothing except a battle lost can be half as melancholy as a battle won.” No one, it seems, appreciates/laments the cost of warfare more than the soldiers themselves. Sometimes, however, it’s the civilians—without the choice to “muster out” of the fight—who pay the highest price. In Columbia, we see that encapsulated in Elder Noffsinger’s reaction: “An entire city. My Lord. My Lord God.”
Yet the war with Transport isn’t over, and its cost continues to grow. The QB, Mary Brenneman, is dead. Many of the inhabitants of Little Gibraltar have apparently been killed too. Yet some of our heroes remain, and new ones, like Anne, have joined the fight. The good guys live to fight another day.
I’ll be honest: I don’t have plans—at this moment—to write more B-Company tales. But I didn’t plan Gettysburg, either. Young Mary in “Gelassenheit” demanded more life from me. Perhaps young Anne will start calling to me from the wings as well. We’ll see.
Chris Pourteau
May 2015
Acknowledgments
My Alpha Reader Extraordinaire and the first set of eyes to ever see anything I write is my wife, Alison. I conceptualize stories and characters with her, and she always has a nuance or texture to add that I hadn’t thought of. I hand her drafts tentatively, always anxiously awaiting her response—hoping it’s positive but wanting it to be honest. And she never fails to deliver, usually with both praise and a suggestion for improvement at the same time. She’s my biggest supporter, and I love her for it (one of many reasons). Thanks, my best friend in life, for your unwavering support of my writing.
Beta readers are a great asset to any author. They’re a friendly “first audience” that helps you iron out the embarrassing moments in your story before the public points them out in reviews that make you cringe. My “official” beta readers for these stories were David Bruns, Michael Bunker, Ellen Campbell, Nick Cole, Harlow Fallon, Ed Gosney II, Samuel Peralta, Kim Wells, Catherine Violando, and Bridget Young. The B-Company tales wouldn’t have been nearly as good without their sharp eyes and willingness to tell me when something sounded goofy or was just plain wrong. They gifted me their time in reading and responding to drafts, and for that I’m very grateful.
A special thank-you to my nephew, U.S. Marine Captain and Judge Advocate Alec Pourteau, who helped me fill in some practical gaps in my knowledge of squad tactics. Howard Hendrick and Bob Rink, my geek gaming buddies for decades—and two of the most intuitive, knowledgeable men I know when it comes to military history—helped me with some fact checking. Much appreciated, guys!
David Gatewood, perhaps the most widely respected editors in independent publishing, lent me his insights and corrections for all the stories. His suggestions—sometimes sharply, if winkingly, barbed—always smooth things out and help me see a scene or sentence from a perspective I hadn’t considered before. In my opinion, he’s the best at what he does; it’s that simple. And Michelle Benoit, an old friend and the sharpest proofreader I know, helped me with some final line editing from time to time. Thank you, Michelle, for always being willing to look over my shoulder.
Dave Monk Fraser Adams designed the classic covers for this entire series. His style recalls the designs for the sci-fi novels I grew up with. His knack for modern “coolness” mixed with a bit of steampunk on the side really captures my own authorial intention in the stories. Dave is an awesome Aussie and never minds my asking for one more tweak. Thanks, Dave, for your flexibility, patience, and willingness to lend me your talent.
Ben Adams’s fertile imagination provided the excellent illustrations you see throughout this collection. They look like electronic woodcuts to me—the perfect mix of contemporary expression and traditional composition that appear both polished and raw at the same time. He really captures the adrenaline-pumping edginess of B-Company’s battles without losing the emotional depth of its combatants. Thank you, Ben, for perfectly capturing these moments in time from my stories.
Thanks also to my authorial inspirations who, by example, have shown me what good writing really is and thrilled me with their stories at the same time. C.S. Forester’s Horatio Hornblower series (begun in the 1930s and set during the Napoleonic Wars) created the modern standard for this kind of adventure fiction. Gene Roddenberry was so inspired by its derring-do that he based his own Captain Kirk on Forester’s Royal Navy Captain Hornblower. Bernard Cornwell reinterpreted the military hero contemporary with Hornblower (but on land this time) in his Richard Sharpe series, which follows the adventures of a British rifleman battling the French across Europe. By the way, if you’re a fan of Cornwell, you might have noticed a nod to one of his most loathsome characters, Obadiah Hakeswill, in my choice of first names for B-Company’s colonel. So, a tip of the hat, Mr. Cornwell, via Obadiah Neville. Other inspirations for these stories include Joe Haldeman, John Scalzi, and a rather obscure Marvel comic from the 1960s called Sgt. Fury and His Howling Commandos, created by the legendary team of Stan Lee and Jack Kirby. If you want to find Stug’s literary grandfather, look no further than Corporal Dum-Dum Dugan, Sergeant Nick Fury’s right-hand man in these World War II-era stories. In fact, I wrote a blog about where Stug came from shortly after publishing Gettysburg. Check it out here: http://chrispourteau.thirdscribe.com/2014/11/03/stug/.
Last but certainly not least, I want to thank Michael Bunker for allowing me to play in his Pennsylvania sandbox. He’s always been open to my ideas for doing what I wanted with his world, offered helpful, insightful suggestions for how to improve my stories, and never begrudged me the time when I’ve needed to ask a question regarding canon or anything else about the world of Pennsylvania. Writing these adventure stories is the most fun I’ve had to date as a writer, and that wouldn’t have been possible without Michael’s generosity, patience, and enthusiastic support. Poppa Bunker seems happy with them, and when the world’s creator is happy with how I handled his world, I ain’t got no room for complainin’.
Chris Pourteau
May 2015
A Note to My Readers
I very much appreciate you, dear reader, and the time you spent reading this collection. I’m still blown away by the idea that people want to spend their time—a finite thing we all have, though none of us really know how much of it we have—reading my stuff. It feels like a great gift from you to me, every time, so thank you for that. I hope you enjoyed reading these stories and found them time well spent.
I’d like to ask for one more favor. Please consider taking the time to review this collection at the venue where you bought it, and also on Goodreads, if you’re a member. Having your feedback helps me know how to improve my craft the next time out. But it also helps other readers, like yourself, decide if they should spend their money—and more importantly, to me anyway, their time—on a written work. Providing a review is like publishing a public service announcement for your fellow readers, something you also benefit from when they do the same for you. Please recognize that by leaving a review, you’re making a real contribution to the world—and the quality—of independent publishing.
About the Author
Chris Pourteau has been a technical writer and editor for over twenty years. His tales set in Michael Bunker’s world of New Pennsylvania have been praised by readers and other writers alike. In February 2015, he published one of the first five novels helping to build the core canon world of the Apocalypse
Weird universe, The Serenity Strain, a book that has been well received by AW fans. Folks also seem to dig his short story Unconditional—a stand-alone tale about the zombie apocalypse from the perspective of the family dog. The Serenity Strain has garnered over 50 reviews and Unconditional has received more than 40, and each has achieved an average rating of 4.8 out of 5.0 stars.
If you’d like to let Chris know what you think about Tales of B-Company, or if you just want to say howdy, feel free to email him at [email protected] or visit his website at http://chrispourteau.thirdscribe.com/.
Chris lives in College Station, Texas.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Introduction by Michael Bunker
Foreword by the Author
== Gelassenheit: A B-Company Origin Story
Historical Note: Gelassenheit
== Gettysburg: A Tale of the Second Pennsylvanian War for Independence
The First Day
The Second Day
The Third Day
Historical Note: Gettysburg
== Susquehanna: A Second Tale of Bestimmung Company
All Our Food Belong to Whom?
The Ferryman
Riverwalk
Warpath
Guns and Butter and Bourbon
Historical Note: Susquehanna
== Columbia: A Third Tale of Bestimmung Company
A Little Night Work
Tales of B-Company: The Complete Collection Page 27
